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Copyrighted 1916 
by 

Murray McConnel 

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Befcicattim 


Unworthy, most unworthy, verses these. 

In thought, and line; 

Perfectionless and crude are they, ’tis true, 

Oh, Heart Divine; 

So, from the dark, I lay them at your feet 
For you to read—and thus to make them sweet, 
Oh, Mother Mine! 









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2Ujgmea About Cornell 


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(SorucU 


Raised above the humdrum 
Of a city’s life; 

Far from out its narrowness 
Distant from its strife; 
Glorious sons departed 
Of thy honours tell; 

Learning - —teaching - —loving— 
Loved by all—Cornell! 



















GJlje Grimes 

In the morning', dark and dreary, 

When the world is far from cheery 
And the Hill seems raised beyond the sky, 
Then the chimes commence their ringing— 
Set the student’s heart to singing— 

With their wondrous music from on high; 
Telling, as they chime the hour, 

“Time is Money—Time is Power;” 

O’er the god of Sleep they ring the knell; 
Courage and ambition giving— 

Making Life more worth the living— 
Paying early worship to Cornell! ! 






















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Junior $3eek 


Forget all your marks, your exams and your "busts;” 

Forget that you ever were last! 

Forget all your troubles and worries, and care; 

Let them drop in the mists of the Past! 

Forget that you owe any money at all; 

Forget all the snow, hail and rain; 

Forget that you ever forgot how to dance; 

For the Junior Week Girl’s here again! 














Welcome 


Oh, Junior Week Girl, with your smile and your curl, 
And your glances entrancing—we welcome you! 

We are, all of us, glad, and none of us sad, 

For you’re here; and we hope that you’re happy too! 

We have pleasure to seek in this one wondrous week, 
With the dances and Prom and Cotillion. 

We’ve been waiting a year just for you to appear 
And, believe us, it’s seemed like a million! 

With wild speculation, and great preparation, 

We have tried in arranging, our best to do. 

So, on with the dancing and parties entrancing! 

Our Junior Week Girl—how we welcome you! 
















A 


lift 














Sjomage 


As the heathen to his idol often lowly bows, 

As the Oriental to his Emperor kowtows, 

As the wand’ring Pilgrim fondly kneels at wayside shrine 
As a savage, prostrate fallen, at some mystic sign, 

So do we, in these six days, by our festivity, 

Wondrous Maid of Junior Week, homage pay to thee! 

























Hg ©tte ©caire* 


Perhaps I’d like to be a millionaire. 

I know I’d like to have a motor car. 

I might be President. 

On Success I am intent. 

I’d like to take a trip through Countries far! 

To tell the truth, I’d give “my very all’’ 

To have fulfilled the one desire I seek— 

I’d travel as a pin 

On the car the girls leave in, 

And get some “inside dope” on Junior Week! 

*(It is a common wish, after the Junior Week 
festivities, to know what the girls thought of the 
parties at the different Fraternity houses.) 














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Qftje Hail of tlje 

(After Kipling’s “Tommy Atkins.”) 

I stepped into a trolley car 
To travel up the Hill. 

The heat within the bloomin’ thing 
That night, was almost nil. 

I asked the good conductor 
Why there wasn’t any heat; 

He says to me, “You students 
Fer complainin’ can’t be beat!” 

Oh, it’s “Student this,” and “Student that,” 

And “Student, freeze your ears!” 

But, it’s “Welcome, Mr. Student,” 

When they need the cash, my dears. 

When they need the cash, my dears, my dears, 
And they all need cash, my dears, 

Oh, it’s “Welcome, darling Student,” 

When they need the cash, my dears! 

I stepped into a store one day 
To buy a shirt or so. 

The boundin’, blackguard, salesman, 

’E wouldn’t let me go! 

’E says to me, “Just charge it.” 

I did, and went my way; 

But, in about a week he writes, 

“I’m suing for my pay!” 

Oh, it’s “Student this,” and “Student that.” 

And, “Student, d-n you, pay!” 

But, it’s “Won’t you please to charge it?” 

If you start to go away. 

When you start to go away, my dears, 

Just START to go away, 

Then it’s “Won’t you please to charge it?” 
When you start to go away! 







4 


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Christmas Sag ttt JJttjaca 


I don’t think it’s Christmas— 

Don’t seem like that to me! 

I haven’t seen a “present”— 

Nor yet a “Christmas Tree!” 

One thousand miles from “Nowhere;” 
Five thousand miles from “Home!” 
“The Dinner” in a restaurant, 

And that was all alone! 

One should be gay on Christmas; 

One should be happy—Yes! 

You say today is Christmas? 

Well—I take another guess! 















(JonteUtatt 

Though when at home in Foreign Land, 

He be a Prince of State; 

Though at the head of Men he stand, 

And millions call him “Great;” 

Though pauper through the coming years, 
Or rich beyond all name; 

Though ’midst all Joy, his lot be Tears, 
Or Fortune bring him Fame; 

He’ll fight for Right, as Right he sees; 

He’ll ever Truth defend; 

He’s honest, just, and loyal—he’s 
“Cornellian”—to the End! ! 









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Smaginatxou 


Do the tales that people write 
Of darksome deeds done in the night 
Delay your sleeping? 

Do the stories others tell 
Of the girl they loved so well 
Soon set you weeping? 

Mysteries of ancient lore, 

Facts in fancy, nothing more, 

Do these confound you? 

Weirdest tales in fiction told, 

Woven through the days of old, 

Do these defy you? 

If you read till early morn 
Any book, though old and worn, 

In fascination, 

God has blest you through and through, 
His best gift He’s given you— 
Imagination! 




















Sftmligljt tit August 


I guess you’ve often heer’d some folks a-tellin’ 

How they liked to be out when the stars wuz bright. 
Myself, I us’ta like to see the moon shine— 

A harves’ moon, on some warm Summer night; 

But, now I’m gettin’ on in years, it’s different, 

And night’s the time to sleep, is whut I say. 

The nicest time of all, the years hes taught me, 

Is when the Sun’s jest left an August day. 

When “Old Man Sun’s” gone down a half an hour, 

I takes my pipe, and go out, as a rule, 

Onto our porch, and watch the lights a-fadin’ 

An’ dream old dreams, and take the air, an’ cool; 
An’ watch the Summer night a growun faster, 

And, as I watch, I often want to pray, 

’Cause I can feel the hand of Him Almighty 
In the still and quiet ending of the day. 










3Jitst a (j>irl 


When you’re “blue” and lonesome; 
When you can’t sit still; 

Nervous, peevish, home-sick, 
Positively ill— 

What ails you? 

Just a girl. 

Something makes you happy; 

Sets you most insane; 

Banishes all troubles; 

Drives away all pain— 

What is it? 

Just a girl. 

She’ll “get” you—now, or later; 
Summer—Winter—Fall— 

Often in the Springtime; 

But—never “not at all.” 

Who is she? 

Just a girl! 













iorottjgB 


My first was quite “cute” 
With a most winning smile; 
But, she was affected 
And daft—by a mile. 

I don’t like her! 

My second was “pretty,” 

So some folks would say; 
But she was conceited— 

I drifted away. 

I don’t like her! 

My third is so sweet- 

And her eyes— Well, I fear 
That I’m falling in love! 
Lord! She’s just a dear! 

I don’t like her! 











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ijmu ttje ^uffraoxBta ^tartefc 

Give us something to talk about, 
Reasons to yell and scream and shout! 
“Votes for women,” 

That will do! 

Start today, tomorrow—through! 

Refs parade on some well-known street, 
Argue with every man you meet! 

This tomorrow, 

That today! 

Woman Suffrage! Hip! Hurrah! 

Start parading at half-past nine! 
Woman Suffrage—fall in line! 

Now we’ve started 
Here we go— 

What do we want? We never know! 

“Tell me, dear, is my sign on straight?” 
“That woman Jones is always late!” 
My, what trouble 
We’ve begun! 

“Votes for Women!” Oh, what fun! 

























Qfunmtij 


Twenty—Twenty—Twenty! 

It’s ringing in my ears. 

Twenty—Twenty—Twenty! 

I’ve lived just twenty years! 
Today has been my birthday. 

With gay and merry scenes. 
Hurray! Sing high, my laddies, 
For I’m finished with my ’teens! 
Twenty—Twenty—Twenty! 

Twenty—Twenty—Twenty! 

How fast the years flow by! 
Twenty—Twenty—Twenty! 

How soon we all must die! 

My youth will soon be over, 

My boyhood went apace. 

My ’teens are gone forever. 

Short, too short, is this life's race 
Twenty—Twenty—Twenty! 










A better 


Dear Maud:— 

Your letter came the other day 
To Maurice, not to me, I’m sad to say, 

So I thought that I had better 
Just scribble off a letter 
In an idiotic, rhyming sort of way. 

You see, he read me just a line or two, 

(The lines he read were really very few) 

Of the part in which you flatter me 
About some crazy poetry 
I wrote, and which he forwarded to you. 

I’m sorry that he sent them to you—(or, 

He never should have sent them to you)—for 
There never was a worse ’un 
Than you, to “kid” a person. 

So, to punish you, I’m sending you some more! 
There’s really “nothing doing” here just now, 
Except that in the “Bunch” we’ve had a row; 

But, that is done and over 
And now we live “in clover,” 

And no more “scraps” will anyone allow! 

It snowed, and rained, and hailed, up here today. 
The boys will soon be going far away. 

Imagine my sensation 
As they leave for their vacation 
For—“little me” in Ithaca must stay! 

I s’pose that I must bring this to an end. 

Best Christmas wishes to you all I send. 

I hope that in the Holidays 
You’ll pleasure find in many ways, 

And trust this will not “queer” me as your friend 




















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2[ljea&ore Stoaaeiielt 


Perhaps you like a man who’s smooth 
With diplomatic ways. 

And you will find, 

If you’re not blind, 

What “T. R.” thinks—he says! 

Perhaps you think he’s always wrong, 
Perhaps you think he’s right, 

But you’ll agree 
He certainly 

Will stand right up and fight! 

He’s not a man who argues “Peace,” 

Or tries your heart to melt. 

You think he’s queer? 

No—Just sincere; 

A fighter—Roosevelt! 










5 * 


















“America” 

(A Plea for Preparedness.) 

An hundred years ago, or more, it seems 
Some idlers of old villages had dreams 
Wherein was seen a Nation yet to be, 

A land of pride and great prosperity. 

Whilst dreaming these fair dreams, it came to pass 
The Mother Country of the land, alas, 

Grew higher handed in her methods, and 
With her injustice angered all the land! 

With one accord the dreamers and the rest 
Cried out! And then rose up together lest 
Their freedom and their very right to live 
Be shorn from them. 

Each patriot bold did give 
With willingness and open heart, his all; 

And instantly responded to the call 
For men and arms to fight a common foe; 

For men to fight—and die; and all did go! 

And yet—the land for which the patriots fought 
Was mostly virgin woods, and there was naught 
Of great developed cities then, like those 
That later from these very woods arose. 

The patriots, onward led by Washington, 

Soon conquered all; and when the deed was done 
They built a government with objects three— 

To give each man Life, Love and Liberty. 

The Country soon had cause to fight again 
For, despots watching close from o’er the main 
Could see no way of ever letting live 
A government which would no tribute give. 

Through trials and troubles this small Nation came 
Till one day ’twas remarked that in Her name 
There lay a question of importance great; 

Which was the sovereign—Nation, then, or State? 
Then came, ’twixt North and South, the Civil War, 
And in the time it lasted, great the gore 
In which the Nation writhed, till came the day 
When Peace, once more, held o’er the land full sway. 
Another war, to champion Liberty; 























And though for others fought, sweet victory 
Did crown the efforts of the Nation Great. 

The fight they fought brought closer ev’ry State. 

Thus, when this “Spanish” War came to a close, 

A Nation greater than before arose, 

Armed and prepared, that all the World might see 
That Nation was, and always would be, free! 

Alas, for good intentions, then, Alas! 

In few short years it quickly came to pass, 

Queer men ar%se, odd men with silver tongues; 

With minds impow’rd inversely as their lungs. 

Their creed was this—“Man’s blood should be like ice!’ 
Their cry was this—“Oh, Peace at any price!” 

And then, when World-war like a cyclone came, 

A war that set the whole wide world aflame, 

Columbia stood as powerless to save 
Her honor, or possessions, as a babe! 

Those patriots of old—what agony 
Their hearts would suffer now, could they but see 
The Nation they conceived in blood and tears 
Humbled and controlled by coward’s fears! 

America—who fought to make men free, 

America—the home of Liberty, 

Your sons and daughters drowned by foreign foes, 
Your commerce killed, and ’neath your very nose 
Is carried out a scheme both great and vile 
To ravish your home industries, the while! 

Why is it done with such a lack of fear? 

Why? Ask you “why?” Then hear— 

Quite mindful of your dignity you wrote 
To each and ev’ry culprit bold a note, 

In which you made great statements quite off-hand 
That sent a thrill of pride tnroughout the Land. 
Unheeded all, they went, because ’tis known 
You’ve not the power to protect your own! 

America!—Awake! Awake! Arise! 

Lift up your sacred banner to the skies! 

Arm!—that the foreign hosts may forthright see 
You still can champion your Liberty! 

Arm!—that in future years you may protect 
Your sons and daughters as they well expect! 

Arm and Prepare!—and, with each free-drawn breath, 
Crv out once more for—“Liberty or Death! 




























SUumrd 

“Strive and work for nothing 
All day long,” you say? 

Oh—think you of the morrow, 
Forget drear Yesterday! 

Work—and keep on working, 

Don’t moan about your fate 
Because your life is toilsome 
From early morn till late! 

For, if you’ve striven hard each day. 
When Life’s great race is run, 

The Master of us all shall say, 


“Well done!” 









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